


Friends (and Grams) Protect People

by aeruh



Category: Kingkiller Chronicles - Patrick Rothfuss, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: As in THE university, Gen, Kingkiller references, Kingkiller universe, Kvothe mentioned, Medica student John, Sympathist Sherlock, Teenlock, University Setting, sherlock crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 13:44:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3898447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeruh/pseuds/aeruh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an encounter with Jim Moriarty in the Underthing, Sherlock forges a gram for protection from malfeasance. But perhaps grams and sympathy aren't the only things a person needs for protection.</p><p>(Mild language is used.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friends (and Grams) Protect People

Sherlock Holmes hunched (wincing, but forcing the pain to go away) over the work table he had claimed in the Artificery during his first year attending the University. Tools were scattered about the surface; knives and shears, sheets of metal and strips of leather, nails and other odds and ends. 

Nimble, pale fingers brushed items aside until Sherlock found what he was looking for. It was almost complete; absolutely perfect, and no one would ever know what he had created. Jim's attempts would be almost futile now. The El'the smiled to himself, imagining the other boy's frustrated reaction, and brushed back dark curled locks of hair that fell in front of his eyes. 

The knife was what Sherlock needed now. He reached for it, grasping the blade in one hand. With the other he tugged down the collar of his dark-violet tunic. All he had left to do was collect a little of his own blood, add the ash, and engrave some binding runes into the copper. After that, his device should be finished. Angling the knife just right, the University student dragged it across his exposed forearm. A thin, beady line of red rose instantly, following its trail. Sherlock barely recognized the sting. 

Collecting the scarlet liquid, he dropped a bit of the stuff onto the copper. A pinch of ashes mixed with the blood, and absent-mindedly Sherlock brushed at his arm when he felt something wet dripping down his skin, wiping it off on the front of his tunic. He was so close...

With a pen, Sherlock scratched the necessary runes onto the small copper surface, and muttered a binding at the same time. That was done. He grabbed some of the nails and bored one through the metal, connecting it to a strap of leather. 

Something was dripping down his arm again. He wiped it away and, as before, brushed his fingers across his clothing. 

Another nail, another strip of leather. A little more ash. One tiny rune. A whispered binding.

Almost finished...

"Sherlock!"

The dark-haired male breathed in through his nose, shutting his eyes. He recognized the voice, of course; but what was its owner doing, back from the Medica so early?

"Hello, yes," Sherlock replied, never sitting up or stopping his work. "Come in, John, but close the door behind you. I can't have anyone else finding this out." His arm was wet again, and Sherlock ran his hand across it without thinking. 

Behind him, there was the sound of the wooden door shutting. Shuffling footsteps followed, and from his peripheral Sherlock caught John Watson limping to the table. His leg, apparently, was still hurting after their little scuffle in the Underthing with Jim last week. 

"Where the hell have you been?" John demanded upfront. "You said you'd come this morning with Molly and I to--merciful Tehlu, Sherlock, are you _bleeding?"_

"Hm?" Sherlock allowed himself a moment's break to sit up and look down. Sure enough, blood was dripping down his forearm, some of it smeared and already drying. The front of his tunic was stained with red, too, from the cut. He must have forgotten about it completely. Ah. "So that's why my arm was wet."

John muttered another curse, reaching out to grab his friend's wrist and pull his arm closer. "What are you thinking, leaving a wound open in a place like this? Don't you know how easy it is to get an infection, especially when you're messing around with all sorts of things in here like that bone-tar..." The Medica student droned on, scolding and scowling while he searched his cloak for bandages. Eventually John was triumphant, and he began to unravel the found cloth, binding it around the cut in Sherlock's skin. After a time Sherlock tuned back in to what his friend was saying. "...What are you even doing in here, anyway?"

"The correct name for 'bone-tar' is actually _Regim Ignaul Neratum,_ which would have no trouble eating through my flesh even if the skin wasn't broken, which wouldn't happen anyway because I am far too careful, and what I am working on is nothing too important," the Artificer replied in one breath, waving a hand in the general direction of the table. "Just making a gram." 

"Just a--" John groaned and broke off mid-sentence, running a hand over his face. "...Not even an El'the is permitted to forge a gram, Sherlock! If any of the Masters find out about this, you could be facing a whipping, or--"

"Expulsion. Obviously," Sherlock interrupted, finishing John's sentence, and looked him in the eye. "But only if someone tells the Chancellor. And I know I would never, so that leaves only you, yes? But you wouldn't, would you, John." It was a statement, not a question.

John stared at the taller man, the gram--momentarily--forgotten. His eyes finally wavered, and he sighed. "No. I wouldn't," he admitted in defeat, sounding tired. Sherlock didn't understand why--it was barely noon, he'd had a sufficient morning meal, and gotten plenty of rest last night... "But what is it for?"

Instead of replying Sherlock simply frowned. He had understood long ago that, as loyal and brave and amazing John Watson was, he simply didn't quite have the same intellect Sherlock did. Every once in a while it showed, and this seemed to be one of those times. 

" _Think,_ John. Jim Moriarty confronts us last week in the Underthing while we investigate the reason behind the missing University students. It is painfully clear that he intends to intervene--to stop me, or to get rid of me. He comes from a family of money; in the Four Corners that means power, and is one of the top Sympathy students in the University. Moriarty is manipulative; he is undeniably brilliant, and I have little doubt that he doesn't fear to stoop to malfeasance." 

The blonde student gaped at the other. "Malfeasance... You don't really think he would do that, do you?" His tanned hand lingered over the bandage. The cut on Sherlock's arm hardly seemed as serious now that malicious sympathy might be involved.

"Do you really have to ask?" Sherlock retorted. "Look at the facts. He's broken into my room on more than one occasion to find strands of my hair, tried to kill us last week, and I'm sure his insufferable lackey Moran wouldn't hesitate to use a little sympathy to _burn my heart out,_ as Moriarty so delicately put it that night."

"Are you sure?" John seemed to be on the verge of believing, but continued prodding anyway. "No one's used malfeasance since..."

"Since Ambrose Jakis attended the University. At least, that's the last time it's been _recorded,_ and it took the Chronicler hunting down Kvothe to find that out," Sherlock said. "I'm sure there's been dozens of accounts of unreported malfeasance since then if not more, all throughout the Four Corners of Civilization."

John fidgeted. "Well... Maybe. But... Has he done anything? Jim, I mean... You wouldn't just risk your education at the University for nothing but paranoia, would you?"

Damn him. Sherlock cursed mentally. Sure, John may not have been the smartest one in the Four Corners, but he knew Sherlock well. 

"...Perhaps," the dark-haired male replied after a moment. 

John really yelled this time. "Sherlock!" For a moment his expression seemed to be a mix of frustration and anger, but it passed quickly to leave nothing but worry. "Where? For Tehlu's sake, weren't you going to tell me?" 

"Not particularly," Sherlock responded honestly. "It wasn't anything I couldn't handle myself."

But poor John, the devoted friend and talented Medica student that he was, was not one to be deterred. "Did he leave marks? Let me _see,_ Sherlock." He began to poke and prod, as a physician was wont to do, until a hand was placed on Sherlock's side and the lanky boy sucked in a breath.

"There." John wasted no time in pushing up his friend's tunic (despite said friend's protests) and revealed a large, dark and painful-looking bruise with a long and poorly bandaged slash to go with it. "For the love of--"

Sherlock cut him off once more. "It is not nearly as terrible as you make it out to be," he said. "I told you I could handle it myself."

The bandages were retrieved from John's cloak once again. "I doubt that," he snorted, "if the dressing over that cut is anything to go by. Come on now, lift the tunic up higher. I want to get a better look." 

Sherlock did as he was told, albeit a bit reluctantly. "The gram--"

"The gram can wait," John snapped, using the tone often reserved for the Medica... Or any time Sherlock needed a bit of patching up. "This cut, however, can not, seeing as it's been waiting since sometime probably last night. Why didn't you _say_ anything? You know I can help."

"It wasn't something I needed you to get involved in," the other replied, wincing a bit as John worked on re-wrapping his side. "I had it all under control. Alone. Alone is what protects me. That is why I was forging a gram... I can handle it all on my own."

"Idiot," was John's only reply as he was finishing up his work. " _Friends_ protect people." His job done, John straightened his back and stood up, wincing as his leg spasmed in retaliation. "That's the best I can do right now... So finish up that damn gram of yours and meet me in the Medica after."

There was nothing Sherlock could think of to say back as John crossed the Fishery and pried open the door, his cloak swishing behind him. It wasn't until he was about to leave that Sherlock called out, "Friends... and grams protect people. Moriarty didn't only threaten me in the Underthing that night, John, and you need one, too... Especially because you don't study sympathy and don't even have a way to defend yourself from malfeasance while you're awake."

John Watson only looked back to give a small smile before the door shut behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little one-shot. I am quite a fan of Patrick Rothfuss' _Kingkiller Chronicle._ The idea came to me randomly, and I went with it.
> 
> I am still continuing all my other stories. I work on them when I get the inspiration, or ideas, so it might take some time.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Friends (and Grams) Protect People [PODFIC]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6622942) by [codeswitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/codeswitch/pseuds/codeswitch)




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